I'll Just Wait Here Then
by CloJo14
Summary: For Dean, it's new town, new school, new faces, same story. Life on the road with Sam and his father doesn't change much. That is, of course, until he meets the Novak family. Suddenly, the life of a hunter seems a little less desirable now that Dean has a reason to stay. Teen!Destiel
1. Same Ol', Same Ol'

**Yo! So, this is my baby, which I've been working on among other things for about 3 months. It's my first Spn fic, which is surprising considering how much other fanfiction I read and how truly, madly, deeply, in love I am with the show. To be honest, during the very early stages of my Supernatural obsession I said (and I quote), "Destiel? Ew, no". I would like to publicly apologize for this statement, seeing as Destiel is now my OTP and there is nothing more beautiful. Anyway, enjoy!**

"You gotta work on that aim, boy!" John Winchester coughed, hauling himself to his feet and glancing at the smoldering heap of ashes on the ground in front of him. "That was too close."

"Yes, Sir." Dean's shoulders sagged in disappointment, the weight of his sawed off rifle on his shoulder not helping. He silently cursed himself for being too quick to shoot and not taking the extra second to guarantee accuracy. _It was a stupid ghost_, he scolded himself. _That's gotta be one of the easiest jobs out there. _

Today was supposed to have been the day Dean showed his dad that he was ready to leave school and take on the job. But now...well, John wanted perfect, and Dean certainly hadn't shown him that.

The car ride home was silent, save the quiet thrumming of the radio, and Dean was all too glad when the Impala jerked into the dingy motel parking lot.

"So, why don't you go on in with your brother, and I'll be in in a while."

John looked over at the bar, and Dean understood exactly what he meant. "Yes, sir."

He trudged across the parking lot to the motel room they were currently residing in. It was pretty crappy, as usual, but the obnoxiously vibrant green door seemed almost welcoming after such a long day. "Hey, Sammy." Dean dropped his duffel bag on the table where his younger brother was diligently finishing his homework and flopped onto the couch with a grunt.

Sam lifted his head from his studies and grinned upon seeing his brother enter the room. "Dean!"

Dean stretched out on the couch, yawning, letting out a loud, tired groan.

"Tough day?" Sam asked, lobbing a pillow at his head.

Dean let out a grunt as it collided with his face, and immediately chucked it back at his brother. "You have no idea." He said with a sigh, settling back into the couch.

"You missed your first day of school, y'know." Sam looked at him

Dean snorted. By now he'd pretty much given up on school. He wouldn't need it for the job. What was important was getting experience with his dad. "Y'see, Sammy, that's why I have you. I can send you in early, have you scope out the place and tell me if it's worth showing up to."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Uh huh. Well, it _is_ pretty nice actually."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "And the chick situation?"

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Have you picked up a single book in your entire life?"

"Yeah, man, remember like...two schools ago?"

Sam snorted and turned back to his homework.

"You make any friends today?" Dean asked, reaching over the coffee table to grab the TV remote.

Sam chewed on the cap of his pen as he stared down at a spot on the table, his eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah," he said, hesitating. "And no."

Dean quickly looked up from the muted television. _Not the bullying again_. "What the hell does that mean?"

Sam's shoulders sank, and he quickly shook his head. "Forget it, Dean."

"Sammy, what's his name?" Dean sat up angrily.

"Why does it matter? I can handle it!" Sam insisted.

"I want to know so when I show up tomorrow I can kick his ass!"

Sam groaned. "Yeah, that'd be a great way to start your year."

Dean ignored him. "What happened?"

"I was walking over to the gym for my 6th period class, and I got lost, and ended up in this alley thing near the dumpsters and I heard this girl crying, so I ran over to help, and he was...he was about to..." Sam stopped mid-sentence, cringing. "I don't even want to talk about it. But I ran in and yelled at him to stop, and he didn't really appreciate that." His eyes flicked down towards his left arm, which was hidden under the table. Dean followed his gaze, his jaw clenching. "What did he do to you, Sammy?"

Sam reluctantly pulled his hand into view. Dean cringed as he saw the makeshift splint on his brother's magnificently purple middle three fingers. "_Shit_." He leapt to his feet, his fists clenched, moving towards the door. "I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna fucking _kill_ him."

"Dean!" Sam insisted, annoyed. "Knock it off! She got away, so it doesn't matter anymore."

"Look at your hand, Sam! What the hell do you mean it doesn't matter?"

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Sam protested, glaring at Dean.

Dean scraped a hand over his face in frustration. "I don't know. Shit, Sammy, why do you have to be such a hero when you don't fight back?"

Sam didn't answer, only stared miserably at his poorly bandaged hand.

Dean sighed. "Was she okay?" He asked, trying not to reprimand his brother for helping someone else. "The girl?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Understandably a bit shaken up, but she's alright." He held up his hand. "Her brother helped me patch it up."

"Let me see that." Dean took a look at the splint, shaking his head slightly. "What is this, a pen?"

He turned and pulled a little medical kit out of his duffel bag and began treating Sam's hand.

"Let me guess," he said, replacing Sam's badly splinted wrappings with more effective supplies. "They're the friends you made?"

Sam nodded. "I guess you could call them that. Gabriel and Anna Novak. He's a senior and she's a junior."

"Did you get her number?" Dean teased, meriting a punch on the shoulder from Sam's good hand. "Hey, just askin'!"

Despite Dean's attempt to lighten the mood, Sam still looked worried. "What do I tell Dad?"

Dean frowned. He could guess how their dad would react, and it probably wouldn't be pretty. He decided in this case, coming up with an alternative story would be best for everyone.

"I dunno, what were you thinking?"

"I thought maybe I could say that I fell," Sam said, looking up hopefully. "Would that work?"

"You're freakin' clumsy alright, but are you bad enough to break a couple fingers from just a fall?" Dean shook his head. "No, he wouldn't believe that."

Sam frowned again, fidgeting with his pen. "I got it stuck in a door?"

Dean nodded. "That'll work. He's not going to be happy though."

Sam cringed. "I know, but he can't find out. Remember Tulsa?"

Dean remembered the occasion clearly. They were out of the state before dawn the next morning, with an identity change once again.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Well, Sammy, I'm glad to hear you've had such a low key first day."

Sam snorted, and turned back to his homework.

"You're such a geek." Dean plopped back down on the couch and turned up the volume.

The night got darker, and eventually Dean decided to whip up a pot of boxed Mac 'n Cheese. They ate without John, and went to bed later that night, coming to the conclusion that they weren't going to see him until the next morning.

"Dean, wake up!"

Dean groaned into his pillow, trying to shut out the sunlight filtering through the musty motel curtains. School could wait, he thought groggily, allowing himself to slip back into the depths of sleep. He was just starting to get back into his dream when he was rudely awakened by the collision of a projectile with his head, causing him to shoot up, knife in hand.

"Get up, dude." Sam said, hands up in surrender, laughing. "We have to leave in 20 minutes if you want to be on time."

He cut Dean off as soon as he noticed him open his mouth to throw out a snarky comment. "And _I_ want to be on time, so get your ass up."

Dean groaned, too tired to argue, and, rubbing a hand over his sleep-heavy eyes, he hauled himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Breakfast consisted of a stale bowl of knockoff cereal each, washed down with the dregs of the orange juice.

"Dad home?" Dean asked through a mouthful of cereal.

Sam nodded towards the back room, where John was no doubt sprawled on his bed, fast asleep. After years of dealing with their father's in and outs, the boys had learned not to ask questions. "He left this." Sam gestured towards the center of the table, where Dean noticed a hastily written note thrown next to $35 in crumpled bills. It read, _Take the car to school. I'm leaving around noon and I'll be gone for a couple days. You know the drill._

Dean nodded. John up and leaving for a couple days wasn't a new concept, and he was secretly glad to be trusted with the Impala.

Several minutes later, Sam sat shotgun miserably while Dean blared his AC/DC tracks as they pulled into the school parking lot. Dean smirked as Sam sank lower into his seat, trying to avoid the stares of the kids disturbed by the deafening noise of the car.

As soon as they parked, Sam leapt out of the car, swinging his backpack over his shoulders.

"What's this school called again?" Dean got out much less enthusiastically, pulling his leather jacket over his green Henley and grudgingly picking up his single notebook and pen.

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Madison L. Wagner High School. Or just Wagner, apparently. Really, Dean, would it kill you to _try_?"

Dean snorted "'Course it would."

They set off towards the front doors, joining the steady stream of students already filing in.

Dean tried to maintain an air of self-confidence, and immediately set out to achieve the status he rose to in every single school he transferred to. He shot the passing group of girls a sly smile, even breaking out a winning head nod of acknowledgement to a pretty brunette wearing a paisley dress with a rather low cut top. Sam noticed his brother's attempt to create a reputation, and looked pointedly at the brunette. "Lisa Braeden," he said, rolling his eyes. "She's a sophomore. That's a little young for you, don't you think?"

Dean ignored his younger brother's disapproval, laying out the charm and throwing her a wink, causing her to blush and look down at her feet. He chuckled, and threw his arm around Sam's shoulders. "Maybe, little brother, but there are some serious perks to having a car to myself for a couple days."

"Gross," Sam said, rolling his eyes and wriggling out of his brother's arm. "You need more Jesus."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, sure."

Sam's eyes suddenly lit up. "Hey," he nodded down the hall, towards a short boy with brown hair foraging through his locker. "That's Gabriel. You know, the guy from yesterday?"

"Should I say hi?" He asked, worry creasing his forehead.

"You're such a girl!" Dean groaned, lightly smacking him on the back of the head.

Sam needn't have worried. As soon as the boy looked up, his face split into a grin. "Hey, Samsquatch!"

He slammed his locker shut, and sauntered over to the pair of them. "How's that hand?"

Sam held up his splinted fingers. "All patched up."

Gabriel nodded appreciatively, then focused in on Dean. He studied the taller boy, sizing him up.

"Lemme guess...big brother?" His tone was as bright as his golden eyes, but Dean immediately picked up on the sarcastic layer underneath.

Sam nodded quickly, clearly self-conscious about making a good impression. "Yeah, this is Dean."

Dean stuck out a hand. "Hey, man. Gabriel, right?"

Gabriel gave a crafty smile, reaching to shake. "That's me!"

Dean nodded, then folded his arms awkwardly. "Um, I just wanted to say, thanks for yesterday." Gabriel's smirk dropped for a split second, then picked right back up again so fast that Dean wondered if his expression had changed at all. Dean continued hastily, "You know with Sam's hand and everything."

Gabriel snorted. "I didn't do anything. Samsquatch here is the real MVP."

Sam's cheeks took on a pink tinge, and he looked at the ground.

"Who was it?" Dean asked carefully, knowing that it was a sensitive subject for both boys.

Gabriel darkened noticeably. "Some creep from around town." His voice was tight. "He doesn't go here."

Dean heard the finality in the sentence and let the matter drop, sensing the boy's anger. "Right. So, um, Sammy tells me you're a senior too?"

Gabriel nodded, that cheeky smile flickering back to his face. "That's right. Hey, what's your schedule? Maybe we have classes together!"

Dean blinked. He'd forgotten to go to the counselor's office to pick up his schedule. "Crap," he said, starting to look around, then realized he had no idea where anything was. "I haven't gotten my schedule yet. Where's the office?"

"Right down there," Gabriel said, gesturing towards the opposite hallway.

"Thanks, man." Dean threw a glance at his brother, who clearly, from the way he hovered towards Gabriel, was reluctant to leave. A small voice nagged at the back his mind, whispering, _don't let him get attached_. Over the years of slipping in and out of schools, Dean had learned not to make friends. The routine had been hard wired into his brain. Sidle into town, get a reputation, have a little fun, and pack his bags when John said so. He didn't let himself get attached to people. The inevitability of their departure hung over him like a gloomy cloud, keeping him from making any relationships that would cause him pain when they left. He had long since accepted that this was simply the way it was. Sam, however, found it practically impossible to build these preemptive barriers, resulting in misery every time they hit the road. And it was because of the repetitive nature of this ordeal that for a moment, Dean considered dragging Sam away from the potential friendship of this curious boy. He could nip this right in the bud, and save them both a whole lot of pain in a couple weeks time. But something stopped him from hauling his brother away from the other boy. _Screw it_, Dean thought, deciding to let it slide. "See you later, Sammy," he said, nodding his goodbye as he turned in the direction Gabriel had pointed him in. Ten minutes later, Dean exited the office, now armed with his schedule and his newly established bad reputation among the faculty. Apparently, he thought with a smirk, most teachers didn't appreciate their students calling them "sweetheart".

**So, how was that? Have a wonderful week, my lovelies, and review por favor! **

**Love, Clodagh **


	2. Classroom Blues

**I introduce to you: the one and only...CASTIEL! Eat your hearts out.**

"...and Viscount Avery declared his ..."

Dean ignored the monotone drone of his ancient English teacher, whose name he'd forgotten already, and began sketching out a circle on his notebook. By the time the bell rang at the end of the lesson, 15 bright red devil's traps were scattered across the lined paper.

"What the hell, man?" Dean suddenly became aware of a sunburned nose peering over his shoulder. "You some kind of devil worshiper?"

Dean hastily shut his notebook. _Crap_. He turned to face the unwelcome observer, coming face to face with a rather red-faced boy looking at him distrustingly. "This isn't devil worship, this is...this is..." He racked his brain for an explanation. "I just saw this in a textbook." He lied. "I like art and symbols and stuff."

The boy looked at him skeptically, crossing his arms. Dean attempted to appear nonchalant, leaning his head against his propped up elbow. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the boy shrugged. "Whatever. Cool, man. I'm Mason."

He stuck out a hand, and Dean shook it, mentally sighing with relief for having averted a potentially awkward future at Wagner.

"Dean. "

"New kid, huh?"

Dean nodded with a sigh as they exited the classroom, glancing down at his schedule. Mason peered over his shoulder once again and exclaimed, "Hey, I've got Health with Brown next too!"

With Mason's guidance, they made their way to a classroom on the second floor, where a male teacher much younger than Dean's previous instructor was scrawling illegibly across the chalkboard.

"Hey, Mr. Brown," Mason greeted the teacher. Mr. Brown looked up, revealing himself to be a rather stiff looking man.

"Good Morning, Mr. Thickory," he began, and then noticed Dean. His expression quickly took on a look of disapproval. "And _you_ must be Mr. Winchester."

Dean grinned cockily, the game of challenging authority all too enthralling. "I take it you've heard of me?"

The teacher's slightly put out expression immediately sunk into a scowl. "I suggest you drop that attitude of yours if you have any intentions of passing this course."

Dean snorted, not about to be put down by what he had immediately deemed an arrogant prick. "Well, shit, then it looks like me and my attitude are gonna be sticking around for a little while longer."

He had to admit that he took a lot of satisfaction in watching both his teacher's reddening face and the shocked but impressed expression frozen across Mason's.

"So," He said, looking around the classroom. "Do we have assigned seats in this joint?"

Mr. Brown stood in disbelief for a few moments until Mason mustered up the guts to intervene. He cleared his throat, his eyes still a little wide with surprise, and nodded towards the back of the room. "No, uh, we don't, but let's just sit over here."

"_Nice and far away_," he muttered as soon as they were out of earshot. They took seats in the very last row of the classroom, where Mason continued to eye Mr. Brown, seemingly waiting for an eruption. The teacher had returned to writing on the board, however, Dean noticed smugly that his grip on the chalk had become much more strained and the patches of skin that showed above his collar were quite red.

"What the hell, man?" Mason whispered to Dean, looking both worried and impressed. "You do get that you're done for in this class, right?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, I honestly don't give a shit about my grades, so why the hell would I pretend to care about that dick?"

Mason stared at him incredulously, before shaking his head with a snort. "Okay, man, whatever you say."

During Dean's exchange with Mr. Brown, other students had sauntered into class, most giving the new student a once over and then turning their attention to their friends. Now, Dean surveyed the mix of kids that occupied the desks in front of him. As for the girls, speaking in terms of prospective hookups, he found the selection fairly average, nothing special, though there were definitely a few he wouldn't mind getting to know better. He eyed up a blonde sitting in the middle of the room, who he recognized from his 1st period class. A perfect study-group opportunity. Dean was pretty good at putting together partner study groups, which, given Dean's track record, surprisingly never seemed to actually result in studying.

"Who's that?" He subtly pointed out the blonde to Mason, who craned his neck to get a better look. "Oh, that's Louise Binx," he explained. "I dunno, man, she's pretty picky about who she gets with."

Dean smirked. "I think I'll take my chances."

His attention was suddenly pulled to a redhead who had previously had her nose buried in her laptop as she leapt out of her seat and fist pumped the air. "Take that, bitches!" She shouted at the screen, oblivious to the scrutiny she was under from the rest of the class.

"Miss Bradbury," Mr. Brown sighed, pulling a bright yellow slip from his desk, "This is the third time this year that I have had to reprimand you for unsuitable classroom behavior. That means detention."

The girl's cheeks had gone the same shade as her hair as she looked around and realized she held the attention of the entire class. She opened her mouth feebly, presumably to protest, but she was interrupted by a low, gravelly voice coming from the doorway. "To be fair, Mr. Brown, I do not believe the bell has rung yet, therefore, Charlie has not interrupted your class."

Dean swiveled around in his seat to face the newcomer, and was met with the most startling pair of blue eyes he'd ever seen. Perhaps it was the shock of dark hair that set off the color, or maybe the blue of the loose tie he wore under his tan trench-coat, but even from the farthest seat from the door Dean could tell how vibrant the boy's eyes were. His outfit was an odd look for a high school student; his coat gave him an aura of professionalism that one wouldn't typically associate with a teenager, yet it suited the boy perfectly. Dean would have immediately pegged the guy for a kiss-up if he hadn't just publicly humiliated the teacher.

Apparently, three strikes from his students was too much for Mr. Brown, and the boy's interjection proved to be the breaking point.

"Mr. Novak, I have had it up to here with this blatant disregard of respect for authority." The now red-faced teacher gestured wildly above his head, his beady eyes fixed on the the formally-dressed boy still stopped in the doorway. "Last time I checked, _I_ was the teacher here. And I'm still handing out a detention, so you and Ms. Bradbury can put your heads together and decide which one of you is going to be clapping erasers after school."

Without hesitation, the boy reached for the yellow slip in the teacher's hand. "I'll take the detention." He shot the surprised redhead a small smile, apparently unaffected by such an irrational reaction, but Dean was not on board with this situation.

"Well, he was right, wasn't he?" Dean almost smirked as he saw a muscle pop in the teacher's jaw. As if to prove his point, the bell chimed, signaling the start of class and causing everyone still standing to scurry to their seats, save the trench-coat boy, whose stride was subtly defiant. Dean was almost disappointed when Mr. Brown decidedly looked away from his challenging glare and simply tore another yellow slip from the pad. Dean had been anticipating a confrontation, but he settled for a more subtle rebellion as he sauntered up to the desk and plucked the detention slip from his teacher's grip. _Dean Winchester_ was scrawled at the top in blue ink, followed by 3 circled dates on which he was now scheduled to attend detention. He almost snorted on the way back to his seat. Dean had no intention of actually showing up. He'd been given countless detentions over the years and had attended a grand total of zero. He didn't see a point, considering he'd be gone by the next week anyway.

Dean sighed as the lesson began. He let his thoughts drift as Mr. Brown shifted through slides on the projector, ignoring the immature titters of the other kids. It was irrelevant, all of it. Who cared about the precise anatomy of the reproductive system when what he really needed to be learning was how to stitch up a bullet wound? He suddenly remembered the family they'd saved from a poltergeist a few weeks before, and how all three children had made it out of the basement, thanks to Dean. Wasn't _that_ more important than all this crap? Wasn't Dean more useful out hunting than stuck in school after school? Maybe if he hadn't gone and screwed up the last hunt he could have been out of this place, doing some real good.

Dean was jolted from his bitter thoughts by a deep voice that was such a dramatic contrast of the slightly nasal tone of his teacher. The blue-eyed boy was speaking: calmly answering a question that had obviously been directed at him with malicious intent, judging by Mr. Brown's leering expression. Dean had to give the guy credit for maintaining the defiant glint in his azure eyes as he stared the teacher down and unabashedly described the purpose of the male reproductive system. _Damn_, he thought. _Does this kid ever blink?_

"...to discharge sperm within the female reproductive tract during sex, an—"

He was suddenly cut off by an obnoxious guffaw near the front of the room. "But it's not like Novak would know from experience!"

It was then Dean noticed the group of guys slouching in their seats, all sniggering at the sad attempt of a witty comment. He knew these kinds of guys. Every school he'd ever had the misfortune to attend had them, and it was the same story each time, from the constant insecure need to put other people down, to the subtly self-conscious way they all dressed alike. And by the way the Novak kid reacted to the comment by simply tightening the muscle of his jaw and keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, it was clear that he was pretty familiar with these kinds of guys as well. _Dickheads_.

Dean wasn't one for _feelings_, and he certainly didn't claim to be some sort of peace advocate; in fact, he'd certainly been the root cause of a fist fight more times than he could count, but if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was bullying. He'd had too many awful experiences patching his brother up to think any differently.

_One more word_, he thought darkly, glaring at the ringleader of the group. _I dare you_. He wouldn't be laughing so much when Dean's fist was connecting with the side of his face.

Unfortunately for Dean's twitching knuckles, the wave of raucous laughter died down as teacher reluctantly shushed them and moved on; the comment was quickly forgotten seemingly by everyone except Dean and the boy, who, though he hadn't finished answering, was silent and straight faced.

Dean hadn't realized he was staring until his eyes began to burn, and he quickly looked away from the boy. He couldn't shake his confusion. The Novak kid obviously had a rebellious streak; that much was clear from just the glint in his eyes. So why did he let the dickwad walk all over him when it bothered him so much? Not that Dean really believed that the "insult" held much truth, as a guy looking like that was undoubtedly capable of getting some action.

Dean suddenly shook his head. Why the hell did he care so much anyway? What made this kid any more noteworthy than the thousands of other kids he had met over the years? In a couple of weeks Dean would be gone, and the blue-eyed boy in the trench coat wouldn't cross his mind again.

God, he hated high school.

Dean was absolutely bored out of his mind by the time the bell rang to signal the end of class, and was relieved to finally stretch his legs and get out of the stuffy classroom. He grabbed his stuff and moved with the flow of students towards the door, snatching the opportunity to "accidentally" shove the guy who'd made the jab at the boy in the trench coat.

"My bad," he muttered rather unapologetically. The guy glared at Dean for a moment but after sizing him up and realizing the main portion of his own backup team had already exited, settled for a rough, "Watch it."

Dean smirked at his retreating pastel polo-clad back, then looked down at his schedule to figure out where the hell he was supposed to go next.

He had just determined that his next class was Physics when he heard a small cough behind him. He wheeled around and was met with a set of newly recognizable blue eyes.

"I wanted to thank you."

Though he'd heard it several times in the past hour, Dean was still surprised at the boy's voice. It was deep and gravelly, and definitely not what he would have expected from somebody with gentle features.

"For what?" His own voice, normally deep to his own ears, sounded strangely lighter in comparison.

"You didn't need to defend me at the beginning of class," His tone was formal, Dean noted, but sincere, and he maintained eye contact the entire time he spoke. "...but you did, and I appreciated it."

Dean snorted. "That teacher's a dick, man, and it's not like I'm showing up to that damn detention anyway."

The boy tilted his head, squinting his eyes the slightest bit. Dean noticed that he kept his hands down at his sides, giving an illusion of awkwardness. "You're not going?"

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "I don't do detention."

"But..." The boy furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at Dean, confusion written all over his face.

"What?" Dean asked, grinning at his incredulous expression. "You never skip a detention before?"

The boy shook his head. "Never."

Dean was a little surprised. He couldn't figure this guy out. One minute he was a defiant detention-earner, the next he was a square. Maybe he just needed a little push. Dean tilted his head expectantly. "How 'bout we skip together, then?"

The boy blinked in surprise, taken aback at the suggestion of skipping himself. Dean immediately began to worry that maybe he'd assumed wrong about the boy, until he realized that the guy seemed less shocked and more conflicted; torn between the right thing to do and the more appealing option. After a moment, he gave a determined nod. "Okay."

"Really?" Dean couldn't keep the surprise out of his tone. "Awesome, man!" He suddenly realized he was way too enthusiastic about coercing a guy who had no idea who he was into skipping detention. "I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester."

The corners of the boy's mouth turned up into a pleased smile as he stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Dean."

Dean shook his hand, still marveling at the fact that he'd seen the boy blink once in an entire hour. "Hey, uh," Dean looked down at his schedule. "You don't happen to have Physics next period, do you?"

The boy frowned, shaking his head. "No, unfortunately, I take Biology. Here, let me see the rest of your classes." He scanned the rest of the sheet, his face lighting up when his eyes reached the bottom of the page. "We have History together during 7th period!"

Dean nodded appreciatively. "Perfect."

The boy glanced up at the clock. "Speaking of class, we should probably begin heading towards our next period. Do you—" he looked questioningly at Dean, "Do you know where your Physics room is?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I've got it, but...thanks."

The boy gave a nod and one last smile and turned down the hall.

Something suddenly occurred to Dean as he watched him walk away, and he called out, "Hey, wait!"

The boy turned around, his blue eyes wide with question.

"You never told me your name!" Dean felt a little stupid for having waited so long to ask, but the boy just smiled.

"Castiel."

Dean Winchester felt the same way about the word _friends_ as he did the word _feelings_. He wanted no part in any of it. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just broken his self-decided stigma and begun a friendship with the boy in the trench coat.

Only 2 periods later did Dean realize that he had forgotten to ask for Louise Binx's number.

**Big plans for the future. Thanks for reading, and remember, reviews are my only form of sustenance.**


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